


It Wasn't Him

by Kawaiikidney



Category: South Park
Genre: Gore, Other, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 04:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8129680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiikidney/pseuds/Kawaiikidney
Summary: Cartman had been nothing but a thorn on their sides, he’d committed abhorrent crimes in which he’d yet to be reprimanded for. They were playing Judge, they were playing Executioner, they were playing Victim.





	

**Author's Note:**

> so this is like a drabble and yyyeah iiidk

There was an arid element to the inner cabin, its lumber having long lacked the regular and welcoming moisture it possessed within its prime years. He should have hesitated, he should have taken notice to all the signs, doubt should have overcome the overwhelming sense of joy. Alas, he’d reverted to a naive boy, Cartman entrusted his companionship and allowed his fortified walls, once bared so strongly, to chip away into nothing. And in his blind jovial state, he pulled out his essentials; a laptop, a phone, and a tablet. A birthday and two Christmas celebrations. 

“What’s the wifi called, is there a password?” Oblivious to them, he spoke as he fumbled to figure out how to connect. 

Kyle shut the door. 

He didn’t pay attention, instead he interpreted several issues and planned solutions.

Stan clamped his jaw shut, glancing over to the rest of the children for a split second; they all had their own tools. Wrenches, hammers, a knife, an axe and a bat. All of them were sure this was what they wanted to do, they were heart set on completing their task. Cartman had been nothing but a thorn on their sides, he’d committed abhorrent crimes in which he’d yet to be reprimanded for. They were playing Judge, they were playing Executioner, they were playing Victim. 

“You guys--” Cartman turned around, uncertainty finally creeping in on him. He saw their weapons, the sharp glares, the vehement hatred in their eyes. “... There’s… no wifi…” It was funny how shock numbed the process of thought, and how still his happiness flickered. 

“The girls are going to do something drastic to us, we have to take matters into our own hands,” Clyde was the first to speak, adjusting his grip on the wooden handle and shifting his weight onto a different foot. His front was anger, eyebrows furrowed harshly enough to cause whiteness, he’d yet to develop strong turmoil within himself. 

“What’re… What’re you guys talking about...?” Cartman could have cracked a hopeful smile, he could have thought of a thousand explanations on the spot of what they were going to do. To go wreck the girl’s houses or destroy all computers to ensure Skankhunt42’s downfall. The reality was sinking in. 

“You brought this on yourself, Cartman. I’m sorry,” Stan said. There wasn’t a true part of him that was apologetic. 

“Oh my god,” Cartman’s whisper was barely audible, he felt absent. Sucked of life. “You guys are going to…” They were going to kill him. His own friends were going to murder him. 

Kyle uttered nothing. A desolate mind and a desolate soul generated no comment. 

“Please-- Please, you guys can’t I-- I’m not Skankhunt! I swear!” The boy’s heart was an erratic organ in his chest, slamming into his ribcage hard enough to pump the dread into his thin veins, force him to jump away and enjoy having a beating heart. For comfort, he hugged the technology close and squeaked out, “Please!” 

“Let’s just get this over with,” Token hissed, a faint recollection colliding with him; a gunshot. As Cartman did that day, he was not going to hesitate. Token had no remorse. What he was doing was for the good of _everyone._

“Please!” Cartman hysterically cried, “I’m not Skankhunt, I’m not! Please don’t do this, please-- we can-- we can still play Counter Strike--! Oh my God, there’s no internet-- we can use my phone as a hotspot! You don’t have to do this! It’ll be sweet! You guys, please!” 

“I can’t listen to this,” Clyde’s strength faltered, his anger was being replaced by fear. What was he doing? 

Seeing Clyde’s weakness as a moment of opportunity, a way out, Cartman claimed, “Clyde! Please, Clyde! You’re my friend, tell-- tell them-- not to do this!” 

It would have convinced him. If he stopped for a second, he would have called the entire thing off, he would have reflected on their experiences and decided this judgement wasn’t fair. Craig’s patience snapped, “Let’s just get this over with!” Bearing his knife, Craig took the first, fatal steps. Adrenaline obscured morality and threw out the concept of rational thought. In the time it took for him to rush over, Cartman dropped his equipment in hopes to fend for himself, or to come to terms with his own death. Neither occurred. 

Craig thrusted his arm forward, the brandished knife digging into Cartman’s stomach. A scream made it out of Cartman before he even registered the horrendous pain, he struggled to push Craig away but was quickly overpowered. Consecutive stabs, one after the other, had his body struggling to keep up. Contagious energy infiltrated the young boys, they scampered forward to attack, to relieve the anxiety and rid themselves of their apprehensions, circling their stumbling prey. 

Blood stained them, gushing onto the ground. The wood soaked up most of the blood, drinking as if its thirst had yet to be quenched. Cartman’s cries and pleas at this point were guttural screams. It hurt so much. Clyde swung with closed eyes, a sickening crunch connecting. 

Each continued. Cartman still screamed. Another hit. Another slam. Another swing. Another cry, another moan, another hit, another hit, another hit, another hit--

They stopped when he no longer bleated. 

The ground was full, blood pooled all around their shoes, its source immobile and deathly silent. 

No longer were they one entity feeding off of adrenaline, they were individuals who had collectively done a deed that offended God. Who’d given them the right to act as a God, anyway? Animal instincts simmered down enough to allow them a breath. A grotesque, strong aroma of fresh blood forced Butters to gag. 

He did this. He contributed to someone’s death. 

None of them wanted to start the cleanup process, none of them wanted to look at their job’s result. Token was the one to drag whatever connected parts allowed him to, out the door and into the dug out hole. It was a disgusting aftermath they anticipated and were still surprised with. 

Minutes stretched on for what felt like hours, Kyle was trapped within a paradox. That all happened so fast yet he could recall every waking second. What… What did he do? No, what did… they do? They did what they assumed was right. Skankhunt42 could no longer going to terrorize the females and Cartman was no longer going to be a threat. To anyone. 

_It wasn’t him._


End file.
